


Fixated On One Star

by chchchchcherrybomb



Series: The Desperate Type [5]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Did I Mention Angst?, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Masturbation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, This is literally just lead up to the water tower scene from The Desperate Type from Connor's POV, just in case that wasn't clear, oh also like there's a mention of some slightly kinky stuff?, please take care of yourselves dearies, there are a lot of potential triggers, this is dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 17:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10724118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chchchchcherrybomb/pseuds/chchchchcherrybomb
Summary: This is the lead up to the water tower scene in The Desperate Type, from Connor's point of view.*******************His hands still shook. He put his head in his hands.Count to ten. He would count to ten and then.Then he would jump.He could do this.No backing out.He could do it.He would.Evan had a few freckles under his eyes. Not a lot, just a few. Probably from being in the sun all summer. Connor hoped he got more. So many more.Okay.He was ready.





	Fixated On One Star

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you didn't get a chance to read the tags or the summary: 
> 
> 1\. This is a scene that takes place during the timeline of my other DEH fic, The Desperate Type. It is the lead up to the scene at the water tower in chapter 18 from Connor's POV. I would suggest that you read that first because otherwise this might not make sense.  
> 2\. As such, this is about a suicide attempt. It also talks about suicide partners and past attempts.  
> 3\. And it talks about self harm.  
> 4\. Also Connor and Evan are sleeping together, so it's gay.

* * *

_Nobody heard him, the dead man,_  
_But still he lay moaning:_  
_I was much further out than you thought_  
_And not waving but drowning._  
  
_Poor chap, he always loved larking_  
_And now he’s dead_  
_It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,_  
_They said._  
  
_Oh, no no no, it was too cold always_  
_(Still the dead one lay moaning)_  
_I was much too far out all my life_ _  
_ And not waving but drowning.

Stevie Smith, “Not Waving But Drowning”

* * *

 

His hands shook.

Which made the pills in the bottle rattle.

He felt like he was moving in slow motion.

Evan wasn’t moving. Fast asleep. He talked in his sleep, a little. Once, Connor thought he had heard his name on Evan’s lips.

Had he a heart, he might have felt guilt for getting so tangled up in this kid’s life. Because… Because Evan _was_ a kid. He looked like one anyway, asleep, hair sticking up, mouth open a little. He had drooled on Connor’s shoulder earlier which was just… precious.

Evan looked less worried in his sleep, but there was still a crease in his forehead, between his eyebrows.

Connor thought Evan would have wrinkles.

If Connor got his way at least.

His handwriting was jerky and sharp and not like his own on the post it note.

He just hoped it would take Evan long enough to find it.

Connor pulled the pill bottle open, and took out exactly one. Because. Well. Evan would probably need it and he wasn’t that much of a bastard that he would intentionally leave him up shit creek without a Xanax.

He wasn’t that much of a bastard.

He thought.

Probably.

* * *

 

Fuck this shit. Fuck it all.

He got high in the car on his way back to the house.

No point in trying to pretend he was better than it anymore.

Just one more layer between himself and everything else.

It’s not like he felt much, but the things he felt – pain, mostly, but also boredom – he would rather opt out of for the rest of his time.

Not that he really minded pain. He just prefered to the be root cause of it.

Like the time he let that guy Dave pierce his ears with a safety pin over the summer when he was in rehab.

Or the tally marks on his arm.

Then there was the time he tried to pierce his septum, but he couldn’t get the needle through and his nose started bleeding so much that his mom walked in on him cleaning up the blood with a kleenex shoved into his nostril and she asked him if he was snorting cocaine.

He didn’t even remember what lie he told her anymore.

“Where were you this morning?”

Oh. Good. Fucking Larry was joining the family for lunch.

“Out.”

Connor could practically hear his father grinding his teeth.

Good.

“What were you doing, honey?”

Shit. Right.

Human interaction.

Right.

“Oh. Evan and I…” What was the least gay way to say this? He didn’t fucking know. “You remember the old apple orchard? Well… we went there.”

“Why?” Fucking Larry asked.

“Evan had never been.”

His dad was looking at him suspiciously.

So Connor added, “Did you know apple trees are deciduous?”

His dad shook his head. “Are you high?”

Connor tried to find a face of innocence to put on. “No sir.”

His dad frowned. “Go up to your room, Connor, I don’t have time for this.”

So Connor got to his feet and saluted his father, just to be a dick, then climbed the stairs.

He texted Evan.

Then tried to do homework. Just because.

And texted Evan again.

He sort of wished he could get away with heading back over to Evan’s house because then at least they could have sex. Which Connor actually sort of liked. He liked that it pulled him out of his head for a little bit, liked that it felt like something, liked that Evan seemed to like it.

Connor might be a garbage person but at least he cared if the person he was having sex with was enjoying himself.

Connor was half debating whether it was worth it to lock himself in the bathroom and jerk off, just for the hell of it, when his phone buzzed again.

Evan.

As if anyone else ever texted him.

Saying he would come over but only if they did some homework.

Which.

Whatever.

What a fucking nerd. No wonder he got that scholarship.

Though he supposed that Evan thought they still had two weeks to get through.

He needed to do something about that.

He had sort of… hoped.

No.

He had sort of _thought_ that maybe today might change Evan’s mind. Nudge him toward flaking.

Not that Connor was out on street corners preaching that everyone had something to live for, but he thought that this kid just fucking might.

Nobody who really wanted to die cared that much about trees.

Then again, Connor thought, he didn’t know anyone who wanted to live who seemed to care so much about _him._

That was probably a problem.

No, it was definitely a problem.

He was probably going to traumatize poor Evan Hansen. Sweet sad kid who thought too hard and felt too much.

Connor waited. Felt a little guilty… but then like everything, it just sort of. Faded.

Connor wondered if he was in love with Evan. He fucking thought about him all of the time. Like literally all of it. The twenty percent of his waking hours not spent on Evan were spent thinking about how to kill himself.

Then again, Connor doubted he was capable of love. Love was such a pure thing.

Connor, by contrast, was a murky as the sludge in an ashtray after you left it out in the rain. Disgusting and dark and hard to get rid of.

He probably just obsessed over him like the freak he was.

He was trying to scrub the world of this stain but people kept yanking him back.

He wasn’t going to let Evan scrub himself out though. He was going to try to make sure of it.

* * *

 

“Hey, come on. Y-you’re supposed to be working on this…” Evan said. Mumbled. He tapped the history textbook Connor had pulled open but then immediately laid his head on top of.

“Learning via osmosis.”

“Connor.”

“Not in the mood for a lecture, mom.”

He heard Evan take in a breath a little too sharply. Knew immediately that he had offended him. Fuck. Damn it. Fuck. He was meant to be avoiding that.

Lifted his head that weighed fourteen metric tons. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Connor said. Fuck. Would it kill him to try to be nice?

Probably.

Maybe not a bad plan.

He tried harder. “I’m really sorry. I know you’re just trying to help, and I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I will do my homework.”

Evan smiled.

A twenty seven megawatt smile.

Connor wanted to kill himself and this nice kid, sweet kid, beautiful kid thought he should join the party. What a mess.

At least he had swiped Evan’s pills so. He’d have a harder time of it.

Evan obviously hadn’t noticed or he would have said something. That kid did not keep secrets. At least not from Connor.

If you asked Connor what he thought happened after you died, he would shrug. He didn’t know or care. He just wanted the slightly nauseated feeling in his stomach, the dull buzz of television static behind his eyes to disappear.

He knew, objectively, that on the eve of his death he probably ought to do something better than history homework with Evan. Like revisit all of his favorite drugs or commit arson or find a more permanent way to wreck his dad’s car…

But. Evan smiling at him.

That was as good as any high.

And the withdrawal wasn’t so bad either because he could always come back for another hit.

For now.

“You have nice eyes,” Evan said at one point.

Connor rolled them for him. “Thanks?”

“I mean it.”

He looked away then.

Like.

It felt like the way that puppies or innocent little kids looked at people and obviously didn’t understand that the people were bad guys. Bad. Guys. Like Evan was sitting there, complimenting Connor’s eyes like he was oblivious to the fact that Connor was Connor which literally only meant bad things for the people within a two mile radius.

Like, people at school got it.

Jared-fucking-Kleinman got it. School shooter jokes aside, it was fucking obvious that Connor was a bomb waiting to go off. Only he didn’t know what would set off the timer.

Maybe landmine was more appropriate.

Maybe dead soon was best.

Granted, that didn’t stop Connor from pulling Evan behind his closet door under the guise of lending him a hoodie to wear home and making out with him.

Another hit.

One last one.

Just to tide him over.

“So, when you worked at the park this summer… did you like it?” Connor asked Evan.

“Oh. I mean. I guess. I liked being able to be in the park all of the time, at least. It was… it was less fun after I broke my arm.”

“Hmm.”

“Did you spend all summer in rehab?” Evan asked.

“What?”

“You mentioned that you were in rehab… were you there all summer?"

Connor nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Why?”

“I was just curious… what you did. Over the summer.”

“Nothing special. Or cool. Tell me more about the park… Are their other, uh, junior park rangers or whatever?”

“Apprentice park rangers,” Evan said softly. “And yeah… there were a few of us.” He started talking a bit about their responsibilities and even though Connor literally couldn’t care less about the role of an apprentice park ranger at Ellison State Park, listening to Evan talk about it was.

Nice.

* * *

 

Evan went home around ten because Fucking Larry started rumbling and growling about how Connor looked awfully tired.

Connor was tired.

Not that it mattered.

His eyes had been itching for hours.

When had he slept last?

He might have dozed this morning.

Evan had a cut on his wrist, and Connor didn’t ask about it because he didn’t know how to ask without being hypocritical.

This whole thing was just an experiment in hypocrisy.

People seemed to think that deciding to kill yourself involved a lot of dramatics. Like there was some book he read as a kid, where this girl made all of these tapes blaming everyone else for her decision to off herself?

Not realistic at all.

Too much fucking work.

It mostly involved laying around, Connor thought. He had decided to kill himself about fifteen times over all with his head flat against his mattress, hoping to just spontaneously quit breathing…

That hadn’t worked.

Thus the plan.

Capital letters?

The Plan?

He didn’t know.

He wasn’t fucking used to caring about things. It was a little alarming to care about trying to get Evan not to kill himself.

Since when was he that type of person?

_Probably since you started fucking him because you’re a complete fucking girl._

 

* * *

The fucking bathroom at this house was the only place he got any goddamn privacy.

 _I think I’ll miss you most of all, bathroom,_ Connor thought sarcastically.

It was after midnight so he was pretty sure his parents wouldn’t come knocking if he took his time.

Last night on earth. He was allowed to fucking jerk off.

And since he was going to die Connor figured he was probably fine, morally speaking, to jerk off thinking about Evan.

Was it weird to replay sex you had? If he texted Evan, out of the blue, “Hey I’m jerking off thinking about the last time we had sex because I didn’t expect you to actually pin me down and you did and that was insanely hot?” would Evan freak out.

Maybe.

Who cared.

It was fucking good the last time though.

Connor had never expected Evan Hansen, who wore goddamn polo shirts and khakis like, regularly, would have been so enthusiastic about the idea of being rough with someone. Clawing up Connor’s back, bossing him around, responding to the way Connor had mumbled “fuck” when Evan had pulled his hair by panting, “Oh, you like that?” and then grabbing a fistful and yanking on it until Connor was certain he was going to pass out from how fucking good it was. God, he was such a fucking moron, asking Evan to do all of that… and liking it. _Fuck_. He probably had some kind of perverted submissive kink, but who fucking cared he was dying?

They had only been sleeping together for like a week but they were doing it like they were about to die. Which.

At least Connor was.

They tried pretty much everything that either of them thought up, all tucked away in Evan’s room, sometimes going for two or three rounds at a time and just kind of laying around in between.

And the last time? _Fuck_.

“You want me to hold you down?” Evan had sounded so hesitant.

“I mean… you obviously don’t have to, I just thought… I mean. Yeah. If-”

Connor hadn’t gotten to finish what he was saying, because Evan had already pounced on him, his leg pulling Connor’s legs apart, his hands pinning Connor’s wrists to the mattress forcefully. “Like that?”

“Uh-huh,” He nodded so hard he nearly smacked his face into Evan’s.

“I’m going to need one hand for a little bit,” Evan said, his face screwed up in obvious concentration. “Don’t squirm.”

Connor tried to hold still, he tried, but then Evan had his underwear off and was fumbling around for the lube they’d bought that had gotten lost in the sheets somewhere and then Evan had kissed him so hard, bit his lip so hard that Connor tasted blood. “I said. Don’t. Squirm.”

“Yes sir,” Connor had said, so beyond out of his head, and he _definitely_ had a weird submission kink, probably weird daddy issues, he was _such a fucking freak_.

Evan’s face broke out into one of his sunny smiles, and he raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Sir? I kind of like that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…” Evan had kissed his neck then. “Is your lip okay? Sorry I didn’t mean to bite you that hard.”

“Fine. It’s fine.”

“Fine…?”

“Fine, _sir_."

“Good.”

What a fucking mess they had made…

Connor bit down on his balled up fist when he finished to muffle the noise. He wasn’t loud but he got a little bit carried away...

 _Fuck_.

After he caught his breath, Connor washed his hair. Since he was already in the shower.

* * *

 

Connor had passed out for a few hours.

Still in his clothes; he had gotten dressed thinking that once everyone got home he would sneak out.

It was the middle of the night.

Zoe still wasn’t home.

He debated whether it was worth it to go to do it now.

Probably.

But he was already halfway to the kitchen, because apparently his body was determined to keep going even when his brain had checked out. And he was starving.

“What are you doing?”

He looked up at Zoe as he was pulling some leftovers from the fridge. “Eating.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Yep,” he said, taking the tupperware of leftover gluten-free pasta and putting it in the microwave. “What are you doing up?” He asked, like he didn’t know she hadn’t been home.

“Oh. I.” Zoe tucked her hair behind her ear. “I was out.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “Mom and Dad know that?”

“No. And I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell them.”

Connor shrugged. “Who were you with?”

“Nobody, just people… why are you being weird?”

“I’m being weird?” Connor said, eyebrows raised. “You’re sneaking back into the house at three in the morning.”

“I’m not… I’m not _sneaking,_ I….” Zoe stopped. Rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Are you dating Evan Hansen?”

“Don’t try to change the subject-”

“I’m not! I just… Are you? Are you dating him?”

Connor crossed his arms. The microwave beeped. He stirred the pasta and put it back in for another minute. “Why do you care?”

“I just… I’m trying to have a fucking conversation, fuck, nevermind.”

 _Fuck._ She was turning away. She was going to go and this would be their last conversation and it wasn’t even a good one.

“Wait... Zoe. I _am_. I think. I think we’re dating. I don’t know.”

She smiled. “Really? So…” Zoe fiddled with a piece of hair. “I saw you guys kissing after Brenna’s party, but... I just didn’t want to say anything.”

“Oh.”

“So.” Zoe was looking at her feet. “Are you, like… Gay then?”

Connor took the tupperware out of the microwave. He set it down on the counter. “I guess. Yeah.”

“Is Evan?”

“I don’t know.”

Zoe smiled. “Okay. Thanks for uh… telling me?”

“You’re welcome?” Connor said. He looked down at the food he had heated up. “Do you want some of this? I think I warmed up too much.”

“Oh, sure,” Zoe said. Smiled again. How was she always doing that?

They kind of stood around either side of the kitchen island in the half-dark kitchen, eating the reheated pasta.

“I’m sorry,” Zoe said.

“What for?”

“Kissing Evan at that party. I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Zoe chewed a long time. Swallowed. “I just. I feel bad.”

“Don’t.”

“I just I didn’t know you liked him or that he liked you… and he’s nice and cute and I. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really. Don’t worry about it.”

More chewing. Quiet.

“I got another solo in jazz band.”

“That’s cool. Congrats.”

“Sometimes I wish you hadn’t quit playing,” Zoe said. “Our keyboardist is terrible.”

“I wasn’t that good.”

“You were though,” Zoe said softly. “You actually were really good.”

Connor blinked. “If you say so.”

“Why’d you quit, anyway?”

“Because my piano teacher was a dick.”

“Was that before or after you tried to flip his baby grand?”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t _whatever_ me.”

Connor laughed. They finished the food. He took the tupperware to the sink.

“Connor are you okay?”

He froze. “What?”

“You… you’ve seemed more yourself lately. So. Are you okay?”

Connor sighed. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Are you sure? I mean… that thing the other day? The cuts on your arms…?”

Connor shrugged. He didn’t want to get into this. He didn’t want to get into anything with

Zoe. It was too late now, he didn’t want her feeling worse. That was the opposite of what he wanted. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not still… you’ve stopped. Right?”

Connor bit his lip. “Yeah.”

“Liar.”

“Zoe, come on…”

“Just. Just… don’t anymore. Okay? Just don’t.”

Like it was that easy. “Sure.”

She laughed. “I know. I know, that’s like the stupidest thing I could say... I know. Just. I…”

She stopped. Adjusted her ponytail. “I’m going to this… It’s stupid, don’t judge me. But I’ve been going to this idiotic support group thing? Alana Beck dragged me to it after school the other day and I’ve been going the last couple of days. And I just. I know I’m doing this wrong and that we kind of, like, hate each other or whatever but… Just. I want you to know I’m here. Or whatever. If you want to talk or… yeah. That’s my big… speech.”

Connor blinked a few times.

Nope.

This was not good.

This was very much not good the whole fucking point was that she didn’t want anything to do with him because he was a monster he had thrown a chair at her when she was like fourteen because he was insane and nuts and she needed to not want to get closer she needed to be telling him to fuck off and mean it.

“What the fuck?” he said.

“Oh my god, don’t make this worse I kind of want to barf for saying anything.”

“Jesus. Fuck. Thanks Zoe. Or whatever.”

“...You’re welcome.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds.

“Oh. I wanted to show you something,” Zoe said.

“...Okay?”

“It’s stupid and you’ll probably hate it but…”

He probably would. “What is it?”

“Just… it’s a video,” she said. “We can go in my room to watch it? Since I have a door.”

Connor didn’t want to go into Zoe’s room. He hadn’t been in there since they were kids and he had decided that he was going to die without going in there because he was definitely going to pollute it. “Okay.”

They climbed the stairs, both instinctively skipping the third step from the top because it squeaked and apparently they both knew that.

Connor frowned.

People used to think they were twins. When they were little. Because Zoe was tall for her age and Connor was short for his, and their mom was always dressing them in sort of matching outfits.

Did fake twin telepathy hold up? Was that why she had come running when he had kicked the chair out from under him, screaming outside the door and of course his fucking neck didn’t break so when his dad broke the door down Zoe had been the one to climb up on his desk and undo the belt. Is that why? She hadn’t made eye contact with him in three years but she would save his worthless life.

Probably not worth devoting time to at this point.

He didn’t lurk awkwardly in the door when they got to Zoe’s bedroom, still decorated in pastels. Connor didn’t recognize the posters on the walls really. Other than the ones that you could see from the hall. Obviously.

Zoe pulled her laptop off of the desk and sat cross legged on her bed. Connor rolled his eyes and sat down next to her.

“Okay, so… I don’t know why but this comedian… Alana showed me this bit by her and it’s really funny so. I don’t know. It made me think of you.” Zoe was typing as she said this, pulling up a clip.

Connor kept his eyes trained on the screen. There was a white lady, probably in her thirties. The name on the top of the screen said her name was Maria Bamford. “Is anyone thinking of suicide?” The woman asked the crowd. “Don’t do it. Don’t do it, don’t do it… people would be so mad at you if you did that.”

Connor let out a surprised laugh.

“It’s not the season for it… _Late fall!_ ”

He had to smother a laugh, again.

Zoe kept looking at him. Especially when the comedian described her family as her “mortal enemies.” What the fuck was that? Why was Zoe showing this to him?

“Google it! Somebody has done exactly what you have done or worse, has gotten past it, and is currently on a book tour! You’re never alone!”

Connor was laughing harder than he had laughed in a long fucking time. Because it wasn’t the usual, hopeful bullshit people usually gave to him. It was some crazy lady talking about day old raisin bread and saying that the Grand Canyon was a massive waste of space. It was fucking funny.

Zoe was smiling. “So. Did you like it? Some kids at the group thought it was really funny.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He got up.

He needed to get out of there because this good feeling got comfortable.

Zoe’s smile had drooped a little bit. “Oh. Well. Anyway. Night, I guess.”

“Night Zo.”

* * *

 

Connor thought about writing a note. A better note. To Evan.

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_Sorry I couldn’t follow through on the suicide partners thing. It’s awkward, you see, because I’m kind of in love with you? I told you yesterday, at the Orchard, did you notice? I sort of hope not._

That was fucking terrible.

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_The thing is that you’re a good person. You obviously are. I don’t even know what makes you want to die but if I did I would talk you out of it.  I’ve been trying, could you tell? Like last week (or was it the week before, I can’t keep track) when I asked what you wanted to do when you grew up. You should do that. Grow up._

Fuck he was so goddamn bad at this.

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_Why do I keep writing your full name? That is so weird.  I’m so fucking weird._

Goddamnit.

_Dear Evan,_

_See now it sounds weird without your last name._

Fucking hell.

_Dear Evan Hansen._

_I think you deserve to live. And I know that I don’t. So just. Just fucking live. Live because you want to, live because I can’t, live because you can probably solve Global Warming if you can get a better grip on your anxiety and just go to college and talk to people._

Connor kept crumpling them all up into balls, ripping them savagely from his notebook.

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_I love you. It’s weird, I know. But I do. Stay alive. Just… Just stay alive, okay? You deserve to stay alive._

Maybe he should just email Mrs. Hansen and tell her Evan was suicidal, then off himself and stop worrying. Mrs. Hansen had a good head on her shoulders. She would handle it.

_Dear Mrs. Hansen,_

_Your kid wants to die. No delicate way to put this I’m afraid._

_Also I’m sorry I somehow conned you into liking me. That was sort of a dick move._

_Best,_

_Connor_

That didn’t work either.

He was shitty with words, so he tossed all of his little pathetic attempts into the trash downstairs and switched off the light.

* * *

 

Connor passed out again. For hours.

Hours and hours and hours.

Like genuinely the whole fucking day was gone when he pried his eyes open.

The clock across the room read 2:15. _The fuck?_

So much for his big plan of sneaking out at dawn to get the job done. His stupid body was so hell bent on keeping him alive that it tried to make him oversleep his suicide plan.

What the fuck ever.

He was still wearing his clothes from the day before, and he couldn’t be bothered to change them. Too much effort. He didn’t care that they were wrinkled and that his t-shirt was sweaty and sticking to him in places. He was going to be dead. Appearances weren’t his concern.

He went to the bathroom because he was still above pissing himself. For at least half an hour.

When he got out, Zoe was standing in the hall. “Oh. You’re up.”

“I… yeah.” Verbose. A fucking poet. So. Good. At. Communication.

“Mom and dad both left. Some… I don’t know. Couple’s yoga? I don’t keep track of the idiotic things they do anymore.”

“Oh. You’re babysitting me then?”

Zoe shrugged. “Why, do you have plans?”

“I was going to go to Evan’s…”

“Like that?” Zoe said.

Connor glared. “Um. Yeah.”

She frowned. “Okay I just… you slept in those clothes? Don’t you want to wear something… nicer?”

“No,” Connor said, rolling his eyes.

“I mean okay, he’s your boyfriend or whatever.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” Connor headed into his room. Gave it sort of a cursory glance. Went into his drawer, grabbing the bottle of Evan’s pills and shoving them into the pocket of his hoodie.

Well.

That was it then.

He picked up his keys.

“Later,” He called out to Zoe.

“Later,” She replied.

* * *

 

He had sat in his car for about ten minutes.

His phone had rang and rang and rang and rang.

Evan kept texting him.

He’d found the note.

Which was note enough for Connor.

He left the phone in the car. Evan didn’t drive, he had some time… Not that he wanted it.

He set off.

The thing he hadn’t told Evan the last time he was there, because Evan was having a panic attack, was that he didn’t much care for heights.

 _“Didn’t much care for?” Really? What the fuck kind of pretentious ass thing was that to think?_ _  
_

Anyway.

He didn’t like heights.

So this was kind of hilarious to Connor. Climbing up this fucking water tower to throw himself off of it because he was afraid of goddamn heights.

He didn’t even know why.

He’d climbed a fucking tree with Evan yesterday. Because Evan wanted to. Even ten feet up was a bit for him. He prefered his feet on the ground.

Which. Who the fuck cared? This was a fast way to die. He liked the idea of it being fast.

Once he was up there, Connor felt a little.

Uneasy.

Uncertain.

Un-something.

He wished he had brought his phone with him. Post a dramatic facebook status or tweet something or livestream his death so he could traumatize everyone en masse.

Not that he actually wanted that. He didn’t was sort of hoping for more of a flicker out and fade away approach.

To just fucking disappear. Stop the off the rails freight train of his life.

Maybe he should have taken one of these fucking Xanax, just to get his hands to quit shaking. Just to stop thinking about how when they shook badly after his first time with Evan, Evan had just held them tightly. Like it was natural thing to do for someone you cared about because Evan cared about him and.

No.

He didn’t want that.

He should have done something really terrible to Evan to get him to stop… caring. Because now that he was up here, Connor felt a little dizzy, because _oh fuck would Evan come to the funeral?_

God, fuck, he should have carved “just throw me in a box, Jesus Christ don’t bother with flowers” into his arm or something because now that he was up there there was no way he could get that in writing.

Connor sank back against the railing, his knees shaking so badly that they couldn’t, wouldn’t support his weight.

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

Could he actually not do this? Was he this much of a coward that he couldn’t manage something as simple as leaning a little bit over.

He felt in the pocket of his hoodie.

Cigarettes. Lighter. Pill bottle.

It seemed kind of rude to eat a fistful of Evan’s pills. Like he was just being a dick hanging out on a water tower.

He supposed that was one way to get rid of them.

He pulled out a cigarette instead. He would smoke and then he’d jump.

He wasn’t bargaining, he _wasn’t_.

He just needed a minute.

_Fuck._

His hands shook pretty badly so lighting the damn thing took ages. He had been smoking off and on since he was fucking _twelve,_ but today was the time he couldn’t get the damn lighter to bend to his will.

He felt cold. He was only wearing a hoodie, no jacket, hadn’t even looked at the temperature today, hadn’t thought he needed to…

Connor thought of Evan’s face. Like… maybe if he focused on something good for a couple of minutes then he could get up and step out into thin air and…

Fuck. Fucking hell.

Maybe he should try to fucking pray or something? There was some lapsed remains of Catholicism buried somewhere in his broken brain…

If there was a God, he definitely didn’t give a shit about someone like Connor. If there was some guy in the clouds he was probably munching His popcorn and saying, “Just do it already, I don’t have all day.”

Connor was too small to talk to God.

Or maybe too smart.

Fuck.

Okay.

Okayokayokayokayokay.

He could do this. He finished his cigarette. Waited for the slight calm that followed the nicotine rush.

His hands still shook. He put his head in his hands. Fuck. Fuck.

Count to ten. He would count to ten and then.

Then he would jump.

He could do this.

No backing out.

He could do it.

He would.

Evan had a few freckles under his eyes. Not a lot, just a few. Probably from being in the sun all summer. Connor hoped he got more. So many more.

Okay.

He was ready.

He was.

“Hey.”

Connor turned his head. His heart sank, he had failed, he fucking failed...

Evan said, “You’re two weeks early.”

And Connor was so ashamed because he almost immediately started to cry.

Because his first thought was, _Oh thank god. He’s come to get me._

**Author's Note:**

> So the video that Connor and Zoe watch is Maria Bamford. She jokes about suicide in a way that is actually pretty heartwarming and positive. You can watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=InNjt2GO5w4
> 
> The title is also from the Fall Out Boy Song "7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen)."  
> There is an easter egg line from Panic! at the Disco's "Behind the Sea." If you spot it, then you are extra cool.  
> There is also a nod to my good friend's fic, Please. :)  
> The poem at the start is one I read in high school that I recently remembered, and it's by Stevie Smith. It's called "Not Waving But Drowning." It reminds me of Connor a lot.


End file.
